halfway home
These walls are so unfinished---
carpet, tile, roof, light bulbs consistently
seeping the same unhurried light
They are so empty
Clock saying it's too late for me to be worth it
Bar stools saying that no one cares if I'm here
or gone
Why am I homesick in my own living room?
Why am I dreaming of hospital beds
Where I'm not often awake
and my fingertip glows red?
He says not to worry, that no one
expects perfection from me.
The truth is, no one expects
anything from me
and that's
the saddest
part.
